


My good sir, leave me alone

by KeeperofConnlaodh



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperofConnlaodh/pseuds/KeeperofConnlaodh
Summary: Malcolm just wanted an easy life, why was this all happening to him?





	My good sir, leave me alone

**Author's Note:**

> this is very much a draft, don't criticize it too hard lmao

To be awake before the sun is an arduous task for most. The sleepy warmth of bedsheets against exposed skin, the crust weighing your eyes down, the lingering chill in the air; all are certainly grounds to bury yourself in your comforter and sink off to dreamland. However, this is not quite the case for one young man. For Malcolm Mackenzie, the crack of dawn is akin to a sirens call. Tranquility is what he pursues and what he follows, he receives. He finds what he desires in the stillness of the not quite awoken air, a feeling that embeds itself into your being and doesn't seem to ever quite leave. He longs for it in the rustling in the thicket, a reminder of those upon the same heavenly body as he, an indication of others substantiality. For this to be achieved, however, he must wake.

The floorboards creak under the stumbling weight of Malcolm, the residual lethargy of rest making itself known as he struggled to remain upright. A shroud of copper hair pushed behind his ears revealed bleary eyes that squinted at what little light made its way through the drapes, and the ghost of a frown upon his lips. He made his way to the end of his bed, scooping up a messily folded pile of clothes and hastily shimmying them on in an effort to keep warm. He may have enjoyed early mornings but his body certainly did not.  
Pale skin seemed to almost glow in the white light of morning as he pulled his curtains open to glance over the forest outside. He had been worried that the young fawn he had seen the previous evening would be attacked by predators but she seemed to be doing rather well, his hope was that her mother was still around and feeding her.

Malcolm would push himself off that track of thought as he turned to exit his bedroom, half jogging down the short flight of stairs that led down from the attic and onto the main level. He had been living here with his foster parents for five years now and he still stumbled over the last step every time. With a yawn and a scratch to his jaw, he would move to open the cooler and take out a basket of food that he had prepared the night before. He'd learned that it was better to have food for when he was working than gorge himself beforehand, after a significant struggle with nausea and a lesson that probably shouldn't have taken him as long to learn as it did. Basket hoisted onto his shoulder and the newspaper put in, feet slipped into boots, and a thin work jacket draped over his shoulder, he left the house. It was only once he found himself half way down the drive did he realize that he hadn't brought his dog. The one he had trained specifically to help him. The dog that he'd had for four years. That one.

Malcolm nearly tripped over his own feet as he hustled back to the house, a twinge of guilt within his heart. It only took a few moments to rouse the large canine and get him back downstairs, clipped into his harness and collar and out the door. It wasn't the first time that this had happened and it was likely not the last. With Percy now following on his left, in a very nice heel, Malcolm finally left the property to go work. He had gotten a job with the villages apothecary and, while pay wasn't the best, he quite enjoyed it. He got to spend time gathering herbs and ingredients and he was able to learn to heal. A win-win situation.

After hitching a ride on his neighbors cart, he was finally at the clearing. He was assigned different tasks each day and this was his favourite. He got to explore the graveyard while he gathered, it was mostly mushrooms and lichen that he gathered here, and he always delighted in finding old things around. it wasn't the safest area to work in, there was plenty of old debris and occasionally an angry animal, but he could deal with the former and Percy could deal with the latter. 

It was nearing afternoon when Malcolm had filled his, now empty, lunch basket with his gatherings for the day as well as a few small trinkets that he'd found half buried or discarded. He'd made his own little tradition of sitting down and reading the newspaper after finishing his job for the day, tossing Percy a few treats for a good days work. He rather hoped that the news was good this week, he knew that a coronation was upcoming for the royals and that the oldest prince or something was due to become king but the royals weren't often brought up. They were private people, despite ruling the kingdom, and worked hard to keep their names out of the news as much as possible. Because of this, the common perception of them was sort of ethereal. It was a god-like personage that hadn't been disrupted for quite a few years. It's difficult to keep that in mind when you find out that the prince had been murdered.

The still, angular face of the prince stared out from the front page of the paper, a rare photo from a gala that had been held for last seasons solstice. The headliner? 'The Prince Has Been Assassinated!' Not terribly classy or professional but you wouldn't expect that from a tabloid.

It wasn't odd to think of the prince as gone, very few had ever really met him and he was talked about even less than the rest of his family, but it made Malcolm feel some rather odd emotions. He had grown up hearing stories about the royalty, specifically the 'much beloved' prince. They shared the same birthday and, reportedly, the same fondness for canines. They didn't really look anything alike but that didn't matter. It was a shock to find out, and an even bigger shock to look up at that same prince holding a knife to your throat.


End file.
